


So Very English

by Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)



Category: Crossing Jordan
Genre: Bug/Nigel, Crossing Jordan - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-26
Updated: 2009-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-03 19:54:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/Perpetual%20Motion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein you will find things that are very English, including two men.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Very English

**Author's Note:**

> I considered using this space to explain all the British things being referenced but figured everyone who can get here can get to Wikipedia.

_Monday:_

The box wasn’t more than three inches square, and Bug stared at it for a full minute before reaching out to touch it. The bow was black, which put his suspicions to Nigel, and he wondered if it was some type of new-morgue-guy practical joke. He looked around but didn’t see anyone waiting in the corner or beyond the wall of windows to point and laugh when whatever was in the box exploded in his face. Figuring it was better to get the wits scared out of him sooner, Bug untied the bow and lifted the top of the box.

It was a peppered moth, more white than black, carefully preserved within a small block of clear glass. Bug turned it over in his hands and examined it from every angle. It looked like someone had caught it in mid-air and pressed it into the glass between wing beats. It was beautiful. Bug placed it on top of a stack of reports and tucked the box into his bag.

_Tuesday:_

There was a flat package resting against his computer screen when he walked into the morgue juggling his bag and coffee and donut. Nigel guessed it at 12 inches square and balanced his coffee and donut precariously on the edge of his work station so he could get a look at the wrapping. There was no note, but the paper was the same dark green as one of Bug’s favored vests. He worked his thumb under the carefully folded edge worked it loose.

It was a copy of God Save the Queen, slightly worn on the edges of the record sleeve. There were faint pencil markings on the upper right hand corner that Nigel squinted into half of someone’s first name. He flipped over the record and read the track list before carefully rewrapping the paper and tucking it into his backpack.

_Wednesday:_

There was simply a bow attached to the side, easily removed with a careful peeling motion, and as soon as it was free, Bug examined the cup carefully. On the bottom of the cup and the saucer were printed: Made in England. The cup had a dark blue line that wrapped around the edge, and the saucer echoed the line along its brim. Bug carried both pieces carefully into the break room and placed them in the designated spot for the coffee mug he hadn’t ever thought to buy.

_Thursday:_

Nigel just stared when he saw it. It was shiny and silver and he could see his slightly warped reflection in the side. He tested the heft of the handle, and it felt very much like the kettle that had been on the back of his stove back in England. No cord or switch on it at all; he’d have to actually let the stove heat the water. He carried it into the break room with a grin and placed it on the back burner, grinning a little more at how completely out of place it looked.

_Friday:_

There were three boxes laid out on his desk, all tan with dark blue writing. He opened the first one and took a deep breath. Earl Grey. The second was Breakfast tea. The third was Darjeeling. He tried to think how long it’d been since he’d had tea from Twinings, and he had a stark memory of the night before he left England, sitting at the table with his parents. They had been reading the paper, and he’d been pretending like he wasn’t scared. The next morning, his mother had kissed him goodbye and pressed a box into his hand. Chamomile to help him sleep on the plane, she said. There were no good teas in America, she said.

_Saturday:_

They were both bleary-eyed as they stumbled into the break room just shy of six in the morning. A body on the east side of town for Nigel. A body on the west side of town for Bug. They eyed each other across the room until Bug walked straight up to Nigel and presented him with a box. It was a cup and saucer, each with a red stripe. Nigel smiled a little and walked over to the kettle as Bug dug into the back of the cupboard for the tea.

“Preference?” Two hours at a cold scene had left Bug’s voice slightly raw. He cleared his throat.

“Anything,” Nigel said, clearing his own throat. He put the kettle, full of water, on the back of the stove and reached into his backpack. He held out the tin of digestive biscuits and gave Bug a smile. “We’re a bit English.”

“Just a bit,” Bug agreed, as he pulled down a plate for the biscuits. “Is that why?”

“Why what?”

“Why this -- the moth and the cup and the tea.”

Nigel watched Bug place the plate on the table. He stopped him with a hand on his arm as he went to retrieve his cup and saucer. “It’s not why.” He leaned down a little, brushed his lips against Bug’s hair.

Bug closed his eyes at the touch, opened them again when Nigel stepped away to the stove. “You mental?” He asked quietly.

“No more than yesterday.”

Bug sat at the table, let Nigel bring the kettle and fill his cup, waited for Nigel to fetch the sugar and milk. When they were seated, knees practically touching, Bug reached out and rubbed dirt off of the edge of Nigel’s hand. His thumb lingered against the knobby part of Nigel’s wrist. “Is it because I’m English?” There was the slightest hint of a smile at the edges of his mouth.

Nigel’s smile was just as slight. “No, but it certainly doesn’t hurt.”

Bug dipped his biscuit in his tea and took a bite. He watched Nigel sip from his cup and gave a nod. “Okay.”

Nigel nodded in return. “Okay.”


End file.
